


Always in Motion the Future

by avanti_90



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossover, F/M, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 22:23:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avanti_90/pseuds/avanti_90
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a time of conflict between the Republic and the Separatist Confederacy, a Jedi Knight and a Separatist officer met on the frozen world of Hoth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always in Motion the Future

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Philomytha for beta-reading.

_A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…_

Cordelia sat up slowly, blinking away ice from her eyes. She felt dizzy and nauseated and cold, so very cold, and there was a sharp pain in her head where she’d struck the ground. Her vision cleared to the sight of a pair of heavy boots, planted firmly apart in the deep snow.

She followed them upward; a human male, short and stocky, his body covered by the thick woolen clothes needed for survival on this planet, only part of his olive-skinned face visible. Sharp gray eyes watched her over a firm, set expression. His gloved hands held Cordelia’s blaster, aimed steadily in her direction, and her lightsaber was fastened to his belt. On his shoulder he wore the insignia of the Separatist Army.

She reacted instantly, leaping to her feet and raising her hand. But her lightsaber failed to fly into her waiting fingers, and her head spun dizzyingly. She stumbled backward and landed in a heap in the snow, pain stabbing blunt knives into her head.

“Please do not try that again,” said her captor, in a voice that held only the faintest trace of an Outer Rim accent. “It would be pointless.”

Cordelia looked down and saw a thin metal band encircling her wrist, glowing faintly blue as its neuromodulatory fields suppressed her connection to the Force. She strained against it, but only the briefest flickers of the Force entered her mind, only enough to dull the pain.

She closed her eyes for a long moment, breathing deeply. When she looked back up she was calm once more, meeting his intent gaze without fear. “Well?” she demanded.

“I am Lord Aral Vorkosigan of Barrayar,” he said. “Captain in the fleet of the Confederacy of Independent Systems. State your name and rank, please.”

“Cordelia Naismith, of Corellia.” She raised her chin and looked him straight in the eyes. “Jedi Knight.”

He gave her a firm nod. “Knight. You are my prisoner.”

 

***

 

“So where is Barrayar anyway?” Cordelia asked. “I’ve never heard of it.”

Vorkosigan stretched out tiredly at the other end of the spot they had chosen to call their camp. “It’s a small planet on the Outer Rim,” he said slowly. “It is ruled by a hereditary Emperor and sixty Counts, of whom my father is one. A beautiful world.” He grimaced at the dead, frozen wasteland around them. “I lived there until I was six.”

“What happened when you were six?” Cordelia asked, curious.

“My mother and siblings were assassinated,” he replied shortly. “Followed by the outbreak of civil war. My father sent me away for my safety. It was many years before I returned.”

“Oh.” Cordelia said awkwardly. “I’m – sorry.” Vorkosigan was frowning, his eyes distant; she searched for something to break the uncomfortable silence. “I don’t remember my birth family,” she said at last. “The Jedi Temple is the only home I’ve ever known. Though of course,” she added hastily, “for a Jedi, every place is home.”

“Even this?” Vorkosigan retorted dryly. Cordelia was forced to smile. She returned to the fire she was trying to build, only to be interrupted by Vorkosigan’s voice a few minutes later. “What in the eternal blazes is this?”

Cordelia turned to see him sniffing dubiously at her lumpy green dinner. She laughed for the first time in the day. “It’s Master Yoda’s special rootleaf stew. He always says it’s good for me.”

“Ah.” Vorkosigan looked down with a strange, indefinable expression, and then took a tentative bite. His eyes widened and he made a sudden choking sound. Cordelia chuckled. “Mind you, I still haven’t figured out how to tell him it’s almost inedible to humans.”

He finished coughing and glowered at her, but for an instant Cordelia saw a smile on his lips. She had not seen him smile before; it made his stern, battle-scarred face look suddenly much younger. She glanced away quickly, prodding a few sparks out of the small fire with a stick. “So… how far did you say this cache of yours is?”

Vorkosigan looked out over the bleak landscape. All Cordelia could see was a sheet of white spreading out in all directions. “Another day’s walk.” But in which direction, he did not say.

“And why is there a Separatist supply cache on Hoth?” she dared.

His expression closed. “Why is there a Jedi Knight on Hoth?”

“To carry out a scientific survey,” Cordelia retorted. “Botany, zoology, geology. Not espionage.” Vorkosigan let out a disbelieving snort.

The chemical flame flickered a few times and died, giving Cordelia a welcome opportunity to change the subject. She stood up with a sigh. “I’m going to see if there’s anything we can use for the fire. Since I suppose you won’t let me use my lightsaber.” Not that she could use it as a weapon without the Force to guide her movements; she would be just as likely to chop her own arm off. He nodded, his eyes still clouded with suspicion.

Cordelia turned her back on him and walked slowly away from the camp, heading for a rocky outcrop that looked as if it might harbor plant life. The cold was biting even under layers of Bantha wool; she hunched up and folded her arms.

 _Keep your distance_ , she muttered to herself as she plodded on. At least until the inevitable interrogation. Republican officers had been captured in Separatist territory before, and few had returned home to tell their stories. So far Vorkosigan had treated her with careful military courtesy, but how long could that be expected to last? No; she could not afford to grow too comfortable with this Separatist captain. Not even if for one brief moment, his eyes had sparkled like the morning sun lighting the ice.

Focus, she told herself sternly. Concentrate on the Living Force, on the immediate task; fire to be lit. There – a glimpse of green beneath the layers of white. Cordelia walked faster in its direction.

Then she let out a muffled cry as her foot slipped and she tumbled feet-first into a deep crack in the ice. Her automatic reaction, to support herself with the Force, was useless. She closed her eyes as shards of ice tumbled onto her face, and her fingers scrambled against the sides of the crevasse, catching something soft and stinging before she lost her grip and slid further down.

Then her fall stopped and she felt something firm grasp her hand. _Vorkosigan?_ she thought. _But how…_

But he hauled her back to the surface – he must be even stronger than he looked, she thought dimly - until she caught the edge of the crevasse and crawled out, collapsing on the ice. She opened her eyes and looked up gratefully, and then the words of thanks died on her lips.

It was indeed Vorkosigan. He stood far in the distance; his hands were still at his sides, only one palm raised. The power he had used was only a faint glow at the edge of her mind, but if she had been fully attuned to the Force, it would have blazed around him like the rising sun.

His hood had fallen back, revealing his face fully for the first time. Cordelia sat still, searching his suddenly familiar features as he walked quickly toward her. _Vorkosigan_ , she thought with a dawning horror; how had she not recognized the name before?

“I know who you are,” she whispered as he came close. “Vorkosigan, the Butcher of Komarr.”

He stopped, and then his hands moved jerkily, pulling his hood back over his face. “What do you know of Komarr?”

Cordelia rose unsteadily to her feet. “It’s a worthless ball of rock in the Rim, valuable only because it lies on the way of four major trade routes. There was a rebellion on the planet four years ago, and the Order sent a Jedi Master to negotiate a settlement. The rebels surrendered to him.” Vorkosigan stood still, eyes fixed on her, expression unreadable. “He ordered the troops under his command to kill them all,” she whispered. “The Jedi Council expelled him for it.”

Silence stretched out across the icy wastes. “Was it you?” she asked. It was hard to reconcile the man who’d just saved her life, who’d looked at her with that smile dancing in his eyes, with that cold-blooded slaughter. “Did you order it?”

“Yes,” Vorkosigan said quietly. “I did.”

Cordelia stepped back from him, a mixture of revulsion and anger rising in her heart, emotions too strong for her to calm. "What was the alternative?" Vorkosigan demanded. "To put my name to the peace the Council and the Senate wanted? It was a false peace, a treaty the rebels never meant to keep. They were nothing more than a pack of corrupt moneylenders, killing and destroying by the thousands for their own economic interests. The Senate would have let them escape justice - but then, the Senate is corrupt and rotten to its core."

The chill of the planet seemed to settle into her bones at his cold words, though Cordelia herself found it hard to deny that last. "They were sentient," she whispered. "A Jedi shows compassion to all life first, before justice."

Vorkosigan's eyes darkened. "The Jedi," he said sharply, "are turning into nothing but instruments of the Senate. And the bureaucrats who run the Senate have neither justice nor mercy. If they aren’t taken down, the Republic will rot and decay out of existence, leaving all life in the galaxy to chaos. But you Jedi don't see it. You serve them still, out of inertia and foolishness."

Cordelia turned abruptly and started walking. From the corner of her eye she saw Vorkosigan’s hand twitch as if he was about to offer help, but then it returned to his side.

They marched back to their camp in silence. Vorkosigan’s hands clenched and unclenched as he walked, and Cordelia kept hers in the pockets of her robes, tightly clutching the fistful of needle-like leaves she’d caught on her way down. Old lessons whispered in her mind: there was nothing worse, nothing more dangerous in all he galaxies, than a Jedi who had chosen to walk the path of the Dark Side. Such a man might well do anything.

That night she checked the leaves against her botanical survey, and slipped three of them into Vorkosigan’s food. She took the first watch, and as the minutes went by Vorkosigan passed into a deep slumber, not waking even when she removed her blaster and lightsaber from his belt, along with all his weapons.

She knelt beside him, holding the blaster, and an image flickered before her eyes: fifty Komarrans shot dead, by the order of a man who had sworn his life to law and peace. A man who had, since then, been condemned to death by a Republican court. But it was he who had left the path of the Jedi far behind; she could not do the same.

She took a last, long look at the sleeping man, and walked away.

 

 ***

 

Cordelia awoke in darkness with a sharp pain in the back of her head and a strong sensation of déjà vu. Then the pain spread all the way through her arms, leaving only her hands, where she could feel nothing at all. The last thing she could remember was trudging through the snow; the sight of fresh footprints beside her, thrice the size of her feet. She'd paused, foolishly, to compare them with Padawan Stuben's carnivore survey. _Wampa_ , she'd thought, identifying the predator - and then there had been a heavy step behind her, and sudden pain, and then nothing.

As her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, she found herself in a deep cave with only a sliver of sunlight visible through the entrance. She was hanging from the roof, her gloved hands frozen to the ice-covered rock. She tried to work her hands out of the gloves, but they were fastened tightly around her wrists. She looked down at her belt; the weapons were gone.

Cordelia twisted her body around and tried to see more. There was light in the back of the cave as well, tiny fireflies dancing back and forth in the air, their glowing bodies illuminating - a heap of bones, with torn, ragged strips of frozen flesh hanging off. Stuben's carnivore survey, indeed. She was starting to have a _very_ bad feeling about this.

Cordelia twisted and struggled, but nothing worked. She tried, without much hope, to free herself with the Force. But she only had the faintest control over the Force, only enough for something small. Something small…

She closed her eyes and concentrated with all her strength. An eternity seemed to pass, until the cave grew entirely dark except for the light from the entrance, and silent, save for Cordelia’s slow, controlled breathing and the soft buzz of fragile wings.

At last a deep growl rumbled through the stones, and a shadow blotted out the light. A pair of fierce, predatory yellow eyes shone out of the dark, and a massive white-furred body lumbered toward Cordelia. 

Cordelia held her breath until the animal was close enough to touch, until she could smell its hot breath and the blood of its last prey. Then she gave the faintest of commands in the Force, and a cloud of fireflies erupted into a halo of light around her head.

The Wampa roared, closing its eyes tightly against the sudden blinding light. In that instant, Cordelia pulled up her legs and kicked it in the face with all her strength. It staggered back, waving its heavy arms wildly, blood streaming from its snout where her boot-heel had struck. One paw narrowly missed Cordelia’s ribcage, a sword-like claw ripping a long tear through her robe; another crashed into the roof, shattering the ice that trapped her hands and making the animal howl again.

Cordelia landed on the ground rolling, and came up facing the enraged beast. It made another angry swipe in her direction, and she darted nimbly out of its reach. She had the advantage in speed and agility, but it was strong. How long could she keep up this dance?

She ducked another attack and rolled toward the entrance. But she’d misjudged her opponent; it moved with surprising speed for its bulk, lunging for her throat in a blur of white and blood.

 _There is no death, there is the Force..._ But then Cordelia heard a familiar voice shout from behind her, and a heavy stone struck the Wampa squarely between the eyes. It fell back, snarling at this second attacker. Vorkosigan attacked it head-on, stabbing with a combat knife tied to the end of a stick and shouting in some guttural Outer Rim language. His other hand was raised, palm pointed at the beast.

The Wampa took another wary step back, away from Cordelia. Vorkosigan, she realized, was using the Force to instil fear - something Jedi could do, but rarely did. He made a quick, desperate gesture in her direction. She didn’t need telling twice. She ran, far out of the animal's reach, but near the mouth of the cave she turned back to look.

Vorkosigan was still driving the animal toward the wall; even in the faint light Cordelia could tell that every muscle in his body was tensed. But this time the Wampa gave no ground, and Vorkosigan's knife stabbed deep into flesh. 

The Wampa reared back, letting out a howl that shook the stones. It raised a massive paw and swatted Vorkosigan aside like a fly, hurling him straight into the rock wall. A claw slashed into Vorkosigan’s leg; Cordelia could see blood pooling around him as he tried to rise to his feet. The great beast advanced on him with another bone-shaking growl. She heard wood snap as it stepped on the shaft of the improvised spear.

Without knowing quite what she was doing, Cordelia found herself running back. She had barely taken three steps when she stumbled over something in the dark and fell on her face, and the Wampa leaped at Vorkosigan, all fangs and fur and claws flying through the air.

In the same instant Cordelia's hand reached down to her feet and found the familiar touch of metal. Without pausing to think, she pulled her lightsaber free of the ice and threw it high over the Wampa’s head. She saw Vorkosigan's head rise, and caught what was perhaps a flicker of surprise; then Vorkosigan caught the lightsaber, ignited it and spun, all in one fluid movement.

The Wampa’s head flew from its shoulders in a spray of blue light and scarlet blood, and rolling over, came to rest before Cordelia’s boots. She looked down, feeling faintly sick. But the image was burned into her mind – the sapphire glow illuminating Vorkosigan’s body as he moved, an image of strength and power and unexpected grace. For that brief moment, the unfamiliar lightsaber had become an extension of his hand.

Vorkosigan was staring at her, wide-eyed, and Cordelia abruptly realized that the fireflies were still flitting around her head like a garland of light. She must appear bizarre to him, a shining figure in the darkness. She released the insects with a grateful thought, and the cave faded into darkness again.

That seemed to break a barrier in her mind, and exhaustion overcame her at last. She swayed on her feet, and would have fallen but for Vorkosigan’s arms suddenly supporting her. “What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded, his voice taut with tension. "You could have died.” He tried to help her forward, but he faltered, blood still flowing from his wounded leg, and it was he who had to lean on Cordelia as they stumbled away from the carcass.

“And what would that be to you?” she asked, oddly grateful for the darkness. And then, feeling churlish, as if she had ignored one of Master Gallia’s lessons in etiquette; “Thank you.”

He did not reply as she helped him sit by the entrance, and for a time all their attention went to his wounded leg and Cordelia’s array of bruises. Only later, when they were leaning together against the cold stone wall and Cordelia had stopped hoping for an answer, did he speak.

“It’s - you’re the first Jedi I’ve met in years,” he said in a rush. “It’s like seeing a glimpse of the light after a long darkness. Or not the light, perhaps, but a reminder that there is indeed light; that it isn't just an illusion, or a trick of the memory...” He looked at her steadily, unnervingly; there was something almost desperate in his gaze. "You had no fear at all, back there. You couldn't feel it, I suppose, but it was just - the Force in all its light and glory, all around you, through you. Nothing else. I'd forgotten what that looked like."

 _Look in a mirror_ , Cordelia thought. But Vorkosigan could not have seen himself in that moment.

“I can understand why you’d want to run from me." Vorkosigan continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But I promise you that I mean you no harm. I wouldn’t blame you for distrusting that; I know my promises have not always been of great worth in the past.”

Slowly, Cordelia reached out to touch his hand. Though several layers of insulation separated her skin from his, he seemed grateful for the small gesture. “I've always believed that all paths lead to the light in the end," she said carefully. "If you want it, and search for it. The Force never abandons its children.”

Vorkosigan glanced down, away from her. “I had that faith, once.” Then he caught her hand firmly in his own. There was a click, and the force-suppressive band fell to the floor. Cordelia let out a gasp of joy as the sensation of the Force flooded back into her, wrapping her aching body in its familiar embrace.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Cordelia closed her eyes, letting herself rest at last, her body relaxing into the familiar feeling of peace and comfort. The last thing she felt before she drifted off to sleep was Vorkosigan weaving nets of warmth around her with the Force.

She woke hours later to the first rays of Hoth’s distant sun, feeling refreshed and strong for the first time in days. For a long minute she lay quietly and soaked in the alien dawn. The Force sang around her as she reached out to the planet, thousands and millions of songs all mingling into one; songs of struggle, of the hunt and the chase, of life surviving in the cracks of the ice. All the single-celled organisms crawling through their tiny worlds, the animals sluggishly opening their eyes to the dawn, the plants unfurling their leaves to the cold sun; all of it flooded together into her mind, the harsh and beautiful music of Hoth.

Smiling, she looked around. The first sight that met her eyes was Vorkosigan, silhouetted in the mouth of the cave, standing with one arm resting on the rock for support. He turned as she stirred, the light throwing his features into stark relief. Cordelia sat still, gazing at him with renewed senses.

For a moment it seemed to her as if shadows were swirling in the air around Vorkosigan, tendrils of darkness coiling all around him, reaching for him. But in the center of the darkness she saw also a core of light, pure and blazing, untouched. Then the vision faded and it was only Vorkosigan, reaching out a hand to her.

Cordelia stood up and went to stand by his side. The sight before her took away all her peace.

The snow had cleared. The separatist base rose up far beneath them, bristling with weapons. A vast landing site had been cleared in the distance, filled by ships and armored skimmers in various stages of construction. An army of battle droids patrolled the perimeter with energy weapons slung over their shoulders.

Vorkosigan’s eyes were intent on her, and Cordelia knew that he could perceive her thoughts. This was no cache; this was a full-scale fleet depot.

The shadows surrounding him suddenly returned, and now they grew, coiling around her as well, around the world, around the entire galaxy.

 _War_.

 

***

 

“Pleased with your report, the Council is. A new mission, we have for you.”

Cordelia bowed her head respectfully before the Jedi Council. “I thank you, Masters.”

“Concern Lord Vorkosigan, it does.”

Cordelia tensed. In the year since their meeting Vorkosigan had risen rapidly to the rank of Admiral, and was now the commander of the Separatist fleet. In the last few months of the Clone Wars he had led the Separatists to victory after victory. The Senate had put a vast price on his head, but few of those who went to battle with the Butcher of Komarr returned to tell the tale.

But those who did returned deeply shaken, sometimes shattered to the core. They whispered that Vokosigan carried a red lightsaber; that he wielded dark weapons not heard of in thousands of years, powers even battle-hardened Masters feared to name aloud. They whispered that _Lord Vorkosigan_ was no Barrayaran title, but a far more ancient one: _Dark Lord of the Sith_.

And sometimes, in quiet corners of the Temple, some of the older Jedi whispered of deeper things. There were rumors that the Sith had agents within the Senate, even in the highest reaches of the Republic's government. There were rumors of a shadowy figure who stood behind Vorkosigan, of whom nothing was known except a name that kept cropping up in the darkest corners of the galaxy: Darth Sidious. _Two there always are_ , they whispered. _The Master and the Apprentice_.

Of the man who had saved her life a year ago, no one spoke. It seemed that no one knew that man but her. Sometimes Cordelia wondered if what she had seen in the cave that morning had been an illusion, or worse, if Vorkosigan had used dark powers to invade her mind as she slept. But her vision of Vorkosigan had remained clearly etched in her mind, as visions did. It was light, not dark, that she had seen that day. Of that she was certain.

“Knight Naismith,” said Master Windu. “Your mission is this. End this war. Find Admiral Lord Vorkosigan, and kill him.”

Cordelia clasped her hands behind her back, fighting for composure. But if the Council saw more than they had expected in her reaction, they said nothing. “Masters,” she said respectfully, “I am a scientist and a diplomat. Not a warrior.”

It was a feeble protest, she knew. Had they not all become warriors in this last year? If this war dragged on, what would be left of the Order except for one more army, one more band of beings trained to kill without conscience?

Master Windu shook his head. “You underestimate yourself, Knight Naismith. It was you, who, at great personal risk, brought us the information that the Separatists were preparing an army. But for you the war would have been lost already.”

“The Supreme Chancellor has particularly requested you for this mission,” Master Gallia said quietly. “And the Council has accepted his choice.”

Master Windu glanced at her crossly, as if he would rather she had not said that. But Cordelia knew now that there was no hope of changing their minds. Even the Jedi Council did not dare to argue with the Chancellor these days. Nevertheless, she looked up at her old Master, and made a last silent appeal that she knew only he would hear.

Yoda's small clawed fingers twisted slowly around his gimer stick. "Go, you must." Cordelia bowed her head.

“Of all Jedi,” Master Yoda went on, “know him best, you do. A weakness in him you may find, where others have failed.”

 _And what if he proves to be my weakness?_ “As the Council wishes,” Cordelia said. She bowed deeply and left the chamber. The carved doors swung shut behind her, and she walked down the corridor at a calm pace, nodding greetings to the Knights and Masters who passed her. Only when she was alone did she flee to her meditation chamber, to fall to her knees on the soft, well-worn mat and try to untangle the confusion swirling around her.

 _There is no emotion_ , she repeated slowly, trying to infuse the words into every cell of her body. _There is peace_. But no matter how much she tried to let go of her consciousness and release her worries to the Force, her emotions remained stubbornly real, anchoring her to the place and the present.

Perhaps, she thought in one moment of pure desperation, she should have told them the truth. And yet, how could she?

That night on Hoth, as she and Vorkosigan had slept beside each other in the cave, something had happened; something so strange that Cordelia could find no precedent for it in all the archives of the Jedi. At first she had thought it was nothing, only increasing closeness and the beginning of a friendship, until Stuben and his band of Padawans - his band of crazy, insubordinate, _brilliant_ Padawans - had infiltrated the Separatist base and taken her away.

Cordelia had been standing on the bridge of the _Rene Magritte_ , wondering what she would tell the Council, even as the ship shot clear of the boundaries of space and time and realities began to fade into each other. She hadn’t even been in the same dimension as Hoth. And yet, even there in the middle of hyperspace, she had felt Vorkosigan's presence.

And now there was a bond between them. A bond that stretched across the gulf of space and the lines of war, joining a Jedi Knight to a Separatist officer. A bond neither of them had initiated, but which had simply been given to them, an incomprehensible gift that the Force had never cared to explain.

Sometimes, when she was alone and exhausted, the bond would be a source of strength, or a comfort to her just by its presence. And sometimes in the midst of battle, she would feel a spike of grief or anger that threatened to overwhelm her mind, unaccustomed to strong emotion. She tried to soothe those emotions, but what could she do when they were not hers?

What would they think if she told them? Surely, that Vorkosigan had made her into an agent; worse still, into a Sith. Even if they did not believe that, they would still have their duty. They would invade her mind, would take it apart piece by piece for clues leading back to Vorkosigan. No; all her instincts told her that it was better this way. But could she even trust her instincts, now?

She needed to clear her mind; she needed balance. Meditation failed her. Cordelia rose to her feet and almost unconsciously found her body slipping into a familiar training kata. She gratefully entered the opening movements of the dance-like exercise, and after the first few steps she began to relax at last, allowing the Force to guide her.

It was a strange choice; the kata of wind and water was meant for two. Cordelia closed her eyes, and an image came to mind; Vorkosigan opposite her, his strong frame moving through the fluid steps with grace and precision, alternately following and leading her through the complex dance.

Was it hope, vision or delusion? Cordelia had no time to wonder, and soon they were soaring through the air, lifted on the wings of the Force into steps ever more complex and beautiful, constructing patterns of perfect harmony.

She should have been distracted, but her movements were flawless.

 

***

 

After months of chasing false leads across the galaxy, Cordelia found herself on Alderaan, sitting in a dim cantina opposite Vorkosigan’s once-padawan. The Knight had been injured severely in his last battle and was now strictly confined to diplomatic missions. His military partner, a big Wookiee noncom with a face like a furry axeblade, loomed threateningly behind him.

“Did he say anything?” She hesitated. “Anything at all, that would give me a hint of where to find him?”

Koudelka stared down, twisting the stem of a glass awkwardly between his fingers. The Wookiee gave a low, rumbling growl. Cordelia persevered. “Knight Koudelka, I want to help him, not kill him.”

“And if you find,” Koudelka said quietly, “that the only way you can help him is to kill him?”

She was Jedi; there was only one answer she could give. “Then I will still help him.”

The Knight's eyes remained determinedly lowered. “He said nothing.”

Cordelia stood up with a long sigh. She was halfway to the door when she heard Koudelka’s voice, barely a whisper. “There’s one place to go if you want to find a Sith Lord. Korriban.”

Cordelia went still. Slowly, she turned around. “Do you truly believe he is a Sith?”

Koudelka’s fingers twitched again, his artificial nervous system still jerky and awkward. “I keep thinking,” he whispered. “I keep thinking - he could have killed me outright, instead of leaving me for the landing party to find. But he didn’t.”

He turned to his companion. “I think I’m going to try another drink, Sergeant.” The big Wookiee filled his glass to the brim, making a deep grunting noise.

“I know, I know,” he repeated, staring into the glass. “But maybe they’re wrong.” Cordelia thought he sounded a little like a drowning man clutching at a straw.

  

***

 

Korriban; birthplace of the Sith. Resting place of the darkest Sith lords in the history of the galaxy. Their names and origins had long since been lost, but darkness still lingered over their remains. Through long, empty ages the tombs of Korriban had whispered to each other, dreaming and plotting until a planet green with life grew barren, populated only by nightmares.

Cordelia entered the chamber of the tombs at blaster-point with a pair of red-robed Sith acolytes flanking her. She walked a step ahead of them, holding her head high. A shadowy figure, robed and hooded in black, sat awaiting her at the end of the dark hall. His pale, thin fingers tapped slowly on the arm of his throne.

The Sith of the tombs were dead, forgotten shadows; this one was real, and more dangerous than all of them. Darkness seemed to rise from him - not merely an absence of light, but a bottomless pool that drained all light away, leaving Cordelia feeling empty and sickened as she approached him. But it was not Vorkosigan. That thought gave her strength.

The guards pushed her down to her knees before the throne. They laid her lightsaber before the dark figure’s hand, sinking to their knees with heads bowed; then they left.

“Welcome to Korriban, Jedi,” said the Sith Master. _Jedi;_  the word was spoken with contempt and loathing, but there was a tinge of anticipation in his voice that worried her.

“Darth Sidious,” she replied. “So, is this where you’ve hidden all this time? Let me tell you that the Council knows where I am. You won’t escape the Jedi now.”

Sidious gave a short laugh. “You entertain me, Jedi.” He raised a finger briefly, and Cordelia skidded forward across the cold floor until she was kneeling right at his feet. Sidious lowered his hand to her face; his touch was cold and clammy, sending a shiver through Cordelia. “You think you have found me? Look at me. I _brought_ you here.”

He raised her chin, and she looked up into his eyes. And then at last she knew him: Chancellor Palpatine.

“Come, Jedi,” he said mockingly. “Come; look on your future.”

Cordelia gazed into his eyes and saw the plot unfold before her. She watched as the clone troopers of the Republic turned on their Jedi commanders, as the blood of children stained the steps of the Jedi Temple. The darkness of Korriban rose to envelop the Jedi once more, and without them, the old, trembling Republic fell to its knees at last. Cordelia watched, horrified, as in its place there rose an Empire of the Sith.

“No,” she said, shaking her head desperately. “It’s an illusion – a trick –“

“This is the future, Jedi,” Sidious hissed. “This is what will be. All my pieces are in place. And yet one piece remains missing. The piece that will defeat the Jedi and lay them at my feet. My greatest apprentice, my perfect apprentice. The one who could give me the universe.” He leaned forward, his dark eyes suddenly blazing. “Vorkosigan.”

His fingers traced Cordelia’s skin slowly, almost curiously. “He truly is the perfect apprentice,” he murmured. “He has so much anger, so much pain and power. And yet he holds it so tightly leashed. All this while I have known that something held him back from releasing his anger. _Something_ separated him from my teachings. Now at last I see what that is.”

No, Cordelia thought, shaken; it was not the anticipation of victory that lit his eyes, it was madness. The Dark Side had consumed all that lived in Palpatine, leaving only a soul-destroying evil to inhabit the empty shell of a man.

“And now, I have you,” he whispered. “Vorkosigan’s Knight. Now there shall be nothing left to stand between him and the Dark Side. Between me and the Jedi.”

“No,” Cordelia whispered again. She realized with a shock that there were tears on her face; Jedi did not weep, she thought helplessly. But Sidious had stripped away all her defences. Only one desperate hope remained now. Vorkosigan had to know she was here, had to have sensed her closeness just as she had sensed his, as she could feel his presence now, waves of tension approaching...

She did not see the door open, but both she and Sidious knew the instant Vorkosigan entered the tombs. Cordelia spun to face the door and saw Vorkosigan framed in the doorway. He was clothed in robes all of black, his face even more battle-scarred than when she had seen him last. Still, hope surged up in her heart at the sight of him.

Slowly, Vorkosigan knelt before the throne. “Lord Vorkosigan,” said the Sith Master. “Kill this Jedi.”

Vorkosigan turned to look at Cordelia for the first time, and a chill went through her at the tinge of gold in his eyes. _What did you do to him?_ she wondered. _But he is not yours yet, not yet…_

Carefully, she reached out through their bond. _I don’t want to fight you_. But Vorkosigan did not answer her, rising to his feet at Sidious' words. Cordelia knelt still, her heart thumping in her chest as she willed him with all her strength to listen, to see what she was offering. To turn away from this path before it was too late.

But Vorkosigan only raised his hand, and his lightsaber leaped into his fingers. Cordelia reacted instinctively, her battle-hardened reflexes taking over. She shot to her feet, stretching out a hand, and her lightsaber flew from the throne to her. Sidious made no attempt to stop it.

Vorkosigan's lightsaber ignited, blood-red; hers, sapphire, rose to meet it. They came together in a clash of light and sound, ringing, resounding through the room. Only in Cordelia’s imagination did they cut a burning track through her heart.

Sidious began to laugh, and his laugh echoed over and over in the dark hall, magnified a thousand times, until all the tombs of Korriban laughed with him.

 

***

 

They attacked and blocked and parried, back and forth, the clash of their lightsabers the only sound in the ghostly hall. Vorkosigan fought like the master of Ataru that he was, leaving Cordelia with no time to think, or to grieve; only to act, only to deflect the next strike.

Sidious’ eyes were fixed on them, following them without pausing to blink. His smile widened as he watched Cordelia trying to hide behind a tomb. Vorkosigan, of course, knew exactly where she was; she only just managed to run in time. _I don’t want to fight you,_ she tried again. But she could make a guess at Sidious’ intentions: this was a test as well as a rite of passage for his apprentice. If she did not die today, Vorkosigan would.

Sidious laughed again, and the laugh sickened her, rich with delight in the vision of sinking his claws still deeper into Vorkosigan’s soul, of tearing down the last walls that defended the light. She leaped back as the red lightsaber struck the air where she had stood, then spun and blocked another strike. Vorkosigan moved with utter precision, and Cordelia found herself fighting for her life as she was driven back all the way across the chamber, until at last they returned to the throne.

“End it,” Sidious whispered. “End it now.”

Vorkosigan’s lightsaber flashed instantly upward, preparing to strike. Cordelia took a despairing breath and called on the Force harder than she had ever done before, called even through the dark shrouds of Korriban.

And the Force answered.

For a moment, time was slowed, and everything around Cordelia was still. She saw Sidious’ face, lit up by delight at the scene unfolding right before his throne. She saw the desperate expression in Vorkosigan’s eyes, fixed on her. She saw the lightsaber, poised to strike down at her body.

The blade was blood-red, but the hilt was recognizable; it was hers.

In one instant, all became clear to Cordelia. She could see all that had led up to this moment. And she could see, with perfect clarity, all that must lead from it.

_At the end of all things, there is only the Force._

Cordelia dropped her weapon and stood still, leaving herself open to the attack, surrendering herself utterly.

Time was restored. Vorkosigan’s blade slashed down, a blur of red. On his left, Sidious leaned forward, his lips parted in sudden delight, distracted from everything else in his moment of triumph, utterly absorbed.

And at the last moment, Vorkosigan’s blade sliced left.

  

***

 

In the Room of a Thousand Fountains, Cordelia knelt before her Master. The silence around them was broken only by the splashing and tinkling of water of a thousand colors, falling from a thousand heights onto a thousand surfaces.

Master Yoda kept a private corner of the garden, shielded from sight by creepers that fell all around like curtains of green. No sound passed between this place and the outside world; not even a hint of the turmoil that raged beyond the Temple’s walls, as the Republic struggled to recover from the revelation of the late Supreme Chancellor’s true identity. But the Jedi had evidence that could not be denied even by Palpatine’s supporters. Even if the source of that evidence could not be revealed.

In the silence, Yoda spoke. “Ordered by the Political Officer of the Komarran government, the massacre was.”

Cordelia bowed her head. He did not need to tell her; she had seen it all. Vorkosigan’s expulsion from the Order, his joining the Separatists, his turn to the Sith, his leading her to the Separatist base, her escape to bring the news of war to the Council, the Council sending her after him… none of it had happened by chance. They had all been steps in an elaborately choreographed dance of death, with Vorkosigan in its center. Sidious had thought himself the controller of that dance, but he had been mistaken. The master choreographer, the one who had made Vorkosigan his instrument and the galaxy his stage, stood before Cordelia now.

Had Vorkosigan knelt here after Komarr, she wondered? The Temple's mind readers should have proven him innocent of the charge of murder - what had he said, when he received this mission instead? When one whom he served and trusted commanded him to betray all his vows? What had he thought as he pledged himself to the Separatists, as he watched all whom he had once called friends turn into enemies?

Looking at the evidence now laid before the Republic, Cordelia knew that the Jedi could never have defeated Sidious. The Sith Master had woven his web too long and too finely; the Republic and the Jedi would have been helpless. Only one who had learned his defences and his powers, who could find him close and unguarded, could have done the deed.

But now the great dance was ended; the plan had succeeded. The Republic was saved, the Jedi were saved. All at the price of a million lives, and one man’s soul.

And now, when all was done, they would not take him back.

The old Master’s stick struck the floor, but without its customary certainty. “Removed, the taint of the Dark Side cannot be. Once one begins down that path, for whatever cause, forever will it dominate his destiny. Jedi, he can never be again.”

Silently, Cordelia lowered her shields and laid open her mind to him. In the sight of the Force her bond to Vorkosigan still shone, clear and silver like moonlight on the rivers of Naboo. But it was slowly fading; in the last months she had sensed little through it but anguish and pain. And now there was nothing but numb emptiness.

“What shall I do, Master?”

The old Master gazed at her, his eyes wide with grief and compassion. Then he padded out of the garden, his steps slower than usual.

Cordelia remained, kneeling silently in meditation. Her eyes closed, and a vision opened before her; a green landscape, a long lake shining in the light of a strange sun. Beside the lake, a child ran laughing under the open sky. Then the child stopped and looked at Cordelia, and she found herself gazing into her own clear gray eyes, half-hidden under a mop of dark hair.

Cordelia knelt and watched as years passed before her eyes, as the laughing child grew into a young man who walked in the light of the Force, who changed the worlds with the strength of his will. A man who, on a day in the far future, held the powers of the universe in his hands, and balanced them.

Slowly, Cordelia rose to her feet and left the room.

Her tan Jedi cloak remained, lying in a crumpled heap on the floor.

 

***

 

Aral sat in the pavilion on top of the hill, an array of bottles laid out on the table before him. His hand hovered over the Coruscanti death-sticks – his last resort - before it grasped the maple mead instead. He took a long, throat-burning draught and fell back in his chair, closing his eyes.

But no, the pain remained, as sharp as ever, closing in on him from all sides. The faces of the dead surrounded him, whispering his name, the betrayed gazes of his friends watching him from every corner. Nothing would drive them away; Aral had tried every single intoxicant ever synthesized in this quadrant and none of them worked on Jedi. Not even on a fallen, broken Jedi, a shadow of a Jedi. What use were the dread powers of the Dark Side if they couldn’t even get a man drunk?

He opened his eyes wearily, and for a moment he sat stunned, wondering dimly if the Corellian hallucinogens were finally working.

She had cast away the robes of the Jedi; she stood before him in a flowing green dress in the Barrayaran style. But the Force surrounded her, pure and radiant, bathing her in light as always.

Hesitantly, Aral reached out a hand. She smiled and took it in her own, warm and gentle and real, no drug-induced illusion. She came to him, and with her he felt long-forgotten light and grace return to him once more, a fire blazing in the darkness of his mind, burning away pain and anguish before it.

He rose unsteadily to his feet, and felt tears rising in his eyes.

 

***

 

For the first three months after Miles was born, his toys kept levitating in and out of his crib every five minutes.

When Master Yoda came to visit, he padded up to the crib and tapped the baby, very gently, with his stick. Miles fell silent, peering curiously at the little green Master through wide eyes.

“Do, or do not,” Yoda told him sternly. “Show off, do _not_.”


End file.
